i wrote this for a first season contest originally, but it didn't turn out that well, so i went back through, re-edited it, and decided to post it.

Summary: Maria's moving, and there are a few things in the attic that she'd meant toleave behind.

Disclaimer: I don't own it, you know the drill.
------------------------------------------------------

"How much is left?" Liz asked, exhausted as she leaned against the U-Haul, sweat dripping from her forhead.

"Just the kitchen things and the last couple of boxes in the attic," I replied energetically as I surveyed my friends. It was funny really, that I was running off the high of the move while the four of them seemed ready to drop. Isabel was spralled out on the grass of the front lawn, where she had landed after claiming she would die of heat stroke. Alex was leaned against the tree, downing a bottle of water as fast as he could. Max stood a few feet away from Isabel, hands on his knees.

"Maria," Max panted slowly, "How on earth did you manage to get so much crap in that little house?"

"It's a sickness," Alex said bitterly, walking over to get a box off of the porch. "There's no way that a normal, healthy person could aquire so much junk in just four years."

"Come on you guys," I urged, rolling my eyes. "There's only a little bit more. I'll go get the stuff in the attic while you finish in the kitchen."

Liz opened her mouth but I stopped her quickly. "Don't worry about Celeste, Liz. I just saw her in the spare bedroom, she's playing like a good girl." Liz seemed almost disappointed. "Sorry, hun, no using the little rug-rat as an excuse."

There was a collective groan as Alex helped Isabel up and they all trudged back into the house. I walked to the back of the house and climbed the stairs to the attic quickly. I was excited, there was just no helping thet. It would be nice to have a bigger place, I always felt cramped in the little one story.

I sneezed as dust attacked my senses, coating my mouth as I inhaled. I could see the last few boxes at the other end of the attic. But as I moved closer to them, my heart skipped a beat.

They were labeled with an messy scrawl I hadn't seen in years. A scrawl that belonged to the person who placed them there four years ago.

I walked over to them, taking a deep breath and knelt down. As I read the annoyed names that had been given to each one, I tried to remember what they held. 'Amy Stuff' was obviously the things my mom had left me before she moved off to California. 'Maria Junk' meant my own keepsakes, things that reminded me of easier times, before aliens and FBI agents. 'Wedding Crap' (a title that was honestly just meant to piss me off) held a dress, two little figurines from the top of a cake, some dried flowers, and a guest book. 'Paintings & Junk' was just some pictures, old belongings, gifts, and all the paintings and sketches I saved from the trash at one time or another. And then there was the last box, labeled 'Private' on the side. I dusted off the top and read the words I had seen for the first time so many years ago - 'For you Maria, I'm sorry.'

I remebered that day all too well. It's what psychologists like to call a flashbulb memory. A moment with such an impact that it leaves a clear imprint on your mind. The FBI had been closing in on us for months. And it became quite clear that Liz, Alex and I had become targets as well. We were all getting scared. Alex wouldn't leave Isabel alone, Micheal reverted into his old ways, suspicious of every dark corner, And Liz and I were confined to the house by our husbands. It drove me absolutely crazy, and I fought Micheal every second. In the end it was Liz who won them the battle, her worry for the baby on its way too great for me to fight.

But I was angry as Michael grew more an more reckless with his powers. One morning I woke up and he was already gone. I wasn't worried, he had mentioned going to Max and Liz's where he kept his studio, because we didn't have the room. Instead I was angry, why should he run around doing whatever he liked while I wasn't allowed to go anywhere?

But before I could even reach the phone to call him, Max was barging through our front door. He was breathless and shaken, and a string of paniced words flying from his mouth. It must have taken me a full 5 minutes to understand what he was telling me. Micheal had been attacked right in front of him. Then he jumped on his bike and sped away, taking the FBI with him.

I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. Even as Max and Liz assured me he was gone, somewhere inside I believed he would be back within a few weeks at the most. And then, after everyone left and I went to the bedroom, I saw the box. It was sitting next to his side of the bed, a yellow rose lain across it. It was the box he kept in the closet, the box that I wasn't allowed to look through. That was when it hit me. He wasn't coming back. He'd left me again, and for good this time. I was so angry that I pushed it away into the attic right then without even opening it.

We were only 23, we hadn't even had our first wedding anniversary yet. I tried to forget about it, spending all my time with the others. It got easier when the baby was born three months later, and we all had little Celeste to think about for a change.

Even when Liz got the postcard during her residency at the hospital, I wouldn't let myself think about that box. The post card had said "Just giving you an update. I'm doing fine. Thank you all for everything. Tell that nurse who had the baby that I hope they're happy, and that I hope the baby is healthy." And that was it. We all understood that it was the only safe way to let us know he was okay. It just looked like one of hundreds of thank you notes recieved at the hospital all the time. But we knew it was from him, he had signed it S.B., short for Spaceboy. But it still made me angry, I hated him for not letting me let go. I remember breaking down when Max read it as he held Celeste in his lap, telling the little brown-haired girl all about Micheal.

And now here I was, staring right at this stupid, beat-up, brown box.

"Maria! You need any help up there?" Liz called, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"No, I got it," I called back, noticing the shake in my voice. I couldn't even look away. I was frozen.

I was going to have to open it.

I reached out with shaking hands and pulled the box open. Sitting down next to it, I looked in.

There were a few things I had expected. The healing stones, one of the drawings of the dome, an old Metalica t-shirt. But underneath were things I didn't expect. There was a matchbook from the Porno-Aladdin motel we'd stayed in when he kidnapped me and my car, the lip gloss I vaguely remembered having gone missing after that night he had turned up outside my window, the scarf I gave him one Christmas, and an assortment of other things that I had thought lost or forgotten. I picked up the pictures that lay there, looking them over. Some were of he and I. One or two were of me making him do something completely silly and un-Michael while he tried to look annoyed, a few of us standing together, arms wrapped around each other, but most were of me, laughing, thinking, sleeping.

I never imagined him keeping any of these things.

At the bottom were two things, and envolope, and a rolled up sketch. I picked up the sketch first and unrolled it. I could hardly breath. There was a small girl with golden curls, tying her red sneakers with blue laces, a dalmation licking at her face. It was amazing. I remebered his detailed description of the flash, but I never imagined that it could be so clear. Even down to the little scar on my ankle from when I craxhed my bicycle. At the bottom it said 'My Maria' right above his signature. I could feel the hot tears building behind my eyes.

I put the sketch down, fighting the emotion welling up inside me, and picked up the envelope. I opened it slowly and pulled out a small angel pendent on a chain and a note. I unfolded the note carefully, as if it could disappear at any moment. It read 'The necklace is for the baby. I know she'll already have great aunt's and uncles, but just let me be a tiny part of her life too." I saw the first tear hit the paper before I even realized I was crying. Celeste was almost four now, and because of my stubborn pride she hadn't yet recieved his gift.

"Mommy?" I turned my head suddenly, Celeste's voice pulling me from my thoughts. She walked over to me and climbed into my lap. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing honey," I said, trying to clear away my tears.

"Then why are you crying? Do you miss daddy again?" She didn't wait for my answer, but looked down at the pictures.

"Yeah, honey, I do," I said, kissing her forehead.

"He was very nice-looking," she said, touching a photograph. I nodded."He still loves us you know," she said.

"Does he now?" I said, wishing I felt so sure.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "He tells me sometimes, when he visits my dreams."

I looked down at her, startled. "In your dreams? He tells you in your dreams?"

"Yeah, but I'm not supposed to tell people, except you if I want to he said. But its okay because I can feel him even in the day time," she said. "Right here." She touched her chest softly and I smiled, nearly crying again. "Do you think he feels me Mommy?" I felt another tear slide down my cheek.

"Yeah, baby," I said quietly. "Yeah, I think he does."